GIFT   OF 


IN  FLIGHT 


IN  FLIGHT 


BY 


ROSALIE  M.  CODY 


Ueto  |?ork 
DUFFIELD  AND   COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1916 
BY  DUFFIELD  &  COMPANY 


TO  THE  FEW  WHO  WILL  CARE 


THANKS  are  due  to  the  editors  of  various  peri- 
odicals, for  their  courteous  permission  to  reprint 
many  of  the  following  poems. 


IN  FLIGHT 

Bright-winged  butterflies  of  thoughts 

Go  floating,  floating  by; 
Oh,  for  a  golden  net  of  words 
To  catch  them  as  they  fly ! 


CONTENTS 
PART    L— SONNETS 

PAGE 

WITH  SEAS  BETWEEN       .'  ».       .         .         ..     •...'•  .  1 

HER   HYACINTHS         .        ,        ,        .         ,;       .""••  .  2 

THE  KING          ,        .       '..        .      .  .        .        .  .  3 

THE  DREAM        .                 .        ...       .        .        .  .  4 

IN  THE  CONVENT          ...        ...  .  5 

AT  DAWN  .        .        .        .        ...      x .  .  6 

RUPERT  BROOKE  .        .        .        ,        .        ,        .  .  7 

A  MEMORIAL  ORGAN  .        .        .        .        .        .  ."  9 

PART  II. — THE  VIOLET  OF  POESY  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

THE  VIOLET  OF  POESY        V       .        .        .        .  .  13 

AT  NIGHT     .       .     '  .        .        .        .        .        .  .  14 

OUTLOOK     .,      .        .        .        .        .        .        ,  .  15 

ROSES          .        .        .   *     .        .        .        .        .  .  16 

ON  THE  RIVER    .        .        .        ....  .  17 

THE  EYES  I  LOVE      .        ...        .        ,  .  18 

A  VALENTINE      .         .        .        .         .         .         .  .  19 

To  PHILOMELA    .        .        .        .        .        .        .  .  20 

FRIENDS       .        .        .        .         .        .        .        .  .  21 

BLOWS         .        .        . ;       .        .        .        .        .  .  23 

SUNWARD    .        .     , '   ._•       ,        .        .;        .        .  .  24 

SATISFIED    .        .        ..        .        .     ';.        .        '.  .  25 

ON  DECORATION  DAY  .  26 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

IN  MEMORY        .        ,  ,     .        ...       ;        .  .  .  28 

BOND  OR  FREE      .        J*       .        .        ,        .  .  .30 

THE  BEST  GIFTS  .        .        .        •        •       >  •  •  31 

PART  III.— FROLIC 

HER  SUMMER  VACATION      .        ,        .         .  .  .  35 

THE  SOLEMN  TRUTH  .      .'...     .  .        .,       .  .  .  37 

THE  NEW  MAID  .        .        .         .        .        .  .  .  38 

A  SYMPATHETIC  TEAR         .        .        .        .  .  .  39 

THEIR  BEASTLY  GOSSIP        .        .'        ,         *  ._  .  40 

A  WARM  FIGHT  .        .•        .        ...        .  ,  .  .  43 

MAKING  THINGS  Do  .        .        .         .        .  .  .  44 

A  BORN  DIPLOMAT     .        .        .        .        .  .  .  46 

NED'S  BIRTHDAY  WISH       .        .         .        .  .  .  47 

SANTA'S  SUBSTITUTE   .        ,        .        .        ,  ,.  .  .  48 

MERRY  CHRISTMAS      .        .         .        .        *  .  .  49 

PART   IV.— THROUGH   THE  YEAR 

JANUARY  BELLS  .        .....  .  .  53 

FEBRUARY  SECOND       .        •       V       .        .  .  .  55 

FORERUNNERS       .        .        .        .      v.        .  .  .  57 

APRIL  SNOW     .  .        .        .        .      ...  .  .  58 

MAY    .        $       .      <  ,        .        .        .        .  ,  .  60 

JUNE  .        s.        .        .        .        .        .  r      .  .  .  •  61 

JULY  .        .        .         v        .         .        .        .  .  .  62 

MY  HAY-FEVER  SWEETHEART       .        .        .  .  .  63 

GOLDEN-ROD         ...        ...  .  .64 

OCTOBER       .        .                 .         .                 ,  .  .  65 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THANKSGIVING     .        .        .        .       '.        .        ,        .      66 
CHRISTMAS- WREATH     .  67 


PART    V.— SHADOWS 

MY  WALL  OF  COMFORTS      .         .       .  .         .  .  .  71 

WHITHER    .        .        .        .        .        ,        .  .  .  73 

BUT  ONCE  .        .        .      ,t  .         .        .        .  .  .  75 

HEART'S   WINTER         .         .         .,       .       ...  .  .  76 

BELGIUM      .        ...        •        .        .        ,  .  .  77 

THE  AMERICAN  MOTHER     .         .        .         .  .  .  79 

PART  VI.— A  LOVELY  DAY 

A  LOVELY  DAY   .  83 


I 

SONNETS 


WITH  SEAS  BETWEEN 

THOSE  loved  ones  gathered  round  the   friendly 

board — 

The  picture  haunts  me  by  this  alien  sea : 
What  wealth  upon  my  life  has  each  outpoured 
Of  boundless,  openhearted  sympathy. 
The  smile  that  spoke  a  welcome  without  word, 
Dispelling  loneliness  as  sun  the  dew; 
The  clasp  of  hand  which  trust  of  heart  conferred ; 
For  these  the  wanderer  yearns  the  wide  world 

through. 

Though  swelling  seas  and  mountain  height  divide, 
My  thoughts  o'erleap  them  to  the  moment  when 
Your  door  on  welcoming  hinge  once  more  flung 

wide 

Shall  bid  me  gladly  enter  in  again. 
Before  my  eyes  rise  minaret  and  dome, — 
My  heart  sees  only  that  dear,  distant  home. 


HEE  HYACINTHS 

If  I  had  but  two  piasters,  with  one  I  would  buy  bread  and  feed 
my  body.  With  the  other  I  would  buy  hyacinths  and  feed  my 
soul. — Mohammed. 

HER  days  are  filled  with  toil  and  homely  cares ; 

It  would  not  seem  a  life  to  make  one  glad, 
Yet  with  a  cheery  smile  she  onward  fares, 

And  every  day  some  heart  is  left  less  sad. 
Word-pictures  paint  a  scene  for  sightless  eyes, 

A  call  to  courage  lights  a  lamp  of  hope, 
And  fainting  resolution,  with  surprise 

Awakens,  strong  with  stubborn  fate  to  cope. 
So  all  along  her  weary  way  upspringing, 

Sweet  flowers  of  remembrance,  pure  and  fair, 
Their  wondrous  fragrance  to  the  air  are  flinging, 

And  blessings  turn  to  blossoms  everywhere. 
Thus  hyacinths  she  buys  to  feed  her  soul, 

And  love  surrounds  her  like  an  aureole. 


[2] 


THE  KING 

IN  olden  time,  when  heralds  came  apace 

And  boldly  challenged  in  the  Kingly  name, 

Great  gates  of  brazen  bolts  and  massive  frame 

Obeyed  the  summons,  and  straightway  gave  place. 

All  custom  changes  with  a  changing  race, 

But  evermore  has  this  remained  the  same 

Since  first,  with  power,  demand  for  ingress  came 

From  him  who  carried  high  the  royal  mace. 

To-day,  all  beetling  barricades  go  down 

At  name  of  him  who  lightly  wears  the  crown; 

And  baffling  walls  in  sudden  ruin  fall 

When  loudly  rings,  and  rings  again  the  call, 

"Give  way!    Give  way!    The  monarch  comes,  in 

truth, 
"Clear-eyed,  broad-chested,  lion-hearted  Youth !" 


[3] 


THE  DREAM 

IN  the  young  morning,  when  the  lifted  face 
Glows  with  the  color  of  the  eastern  beam, 
We  lightly  think  of  death  as  of  a  dream 
That  hides  afar  some  unsubstantial  grace. 
But  scorching  noontide,  coming  on  apace, 
Unsheathes  a  sword  and  rends  with  flying  gleam 
The  veil  'twixt  things  that  are  and  things  that 

seem — 
Lo !   Death,  black-robed,  outreaching  to  embrace. 

This  too  was  seeming.    Sunset  drawing  near 
Dissolves  in  golden  light  that  specter  grim 
And  makes  a  glory  of  a  vanished  fear; 
The  inner  vision  clears,  while  sight  grows  dim, 
And  age,  serene,  unmoved  by  failing  breath, 
Reads  true:  life  waits  beyond  the  dream  called 
death. 

[4] 


IN  THE  CONVENT 

THE  shining  needle's  patient  task  is  wrought ; 
Now  on  her  knee  she  lays  the  little  dress 
With  arms  outstretched — a  filmy  daintiness — 
And  bends  a  look  with  eager  sweetness  fraught. 
What  necromancy  works  in  one  swift  thought! 
A  gentle  weight  upon  her  seems  to  press, 
And  thrilled  with  sudden  yearning  to  possess, 
Quick  to  her  breast  the  tiny  gown  is  caught. 
An  instant  only — then,  with  startled  glance 
She  smoothes  the  snowy  folds,  her  rapture  gone, 
But  trembles,  for  she  feels  as  in  a  trance 
A  baby  hand  close  clinging  to  her  own. 
"Sweet  Mother,  feed  my  hungry  heart !"  she  cries, 
And  holds  the  cross  before  her  tear-filled  eyes. 


[5] 


AT  DAWN 

SHE  looked  at  me  with  eyes  so  grave  and  sweet, 
The  little  girl  I  stopped  upon  the  street 
Because  within  her  faithful  arms  she  bore 
A  sleeping  child,  whose  sturdy  weight  was  more, 
It  seemed,  than  she  should  lift ;  but  when  I  said, 
"Too  much  for  you  to  carry,  little  mother  ?" 
She  smiling  answered,  friendly,  unafraid, 
"Oh,  no,  he  isn't  heavy ;  he's  my  brother !" 

Happy,  she  went  her  way.     And  as  the  lark 
With  welcoming  song  feels  dawn  within  the  dark, 
My  spirit  rose  and  sang.     I  visioned  then 
Great  cities  growing  in  the  souls  of  men ; 
Men  counting  service  as  the  one  great  good, — 
No  weight  too  heavy  borne  for  brotherhood. 


[6] 


EUPERT  BROOKE 

i 

His  picture  lingers  ever  in  my  thought — 

That     upturned     face     with     strange     prevision 

fraught ; 

The  waving  hair,  deep  brow,  and  steady  eye — 
Sweetness  and  strength  with  one  another  vie. 
How  well  the  thrilling  joys  of  sense  he  told, 
Each  treasure  named  as  miser  counts  his  gold; 
With  playful  tenderness  he  makes  us  see 
A  social  sacrament,  his  cup  of  tea. 
But  when  upon  the  quiet  garden's  charm 
Sounded  the  sudden  crash  of  war's  alarm, 
He  sprang  to  manhood — flung  his  day-dreams  far, 
And  went  to  die  beneath  the  crimson  star. 
Not  poet  less,  but  patriot  more,  he  proved 
'Twas  England's  life,  more  than  his  own,  he  loved. 

[7] 


IN    FLIGHT 

II 

A  lonely  spot  by  southern  breezes  fanned, 

The  grave  where  now  this  "bit  of  England"  sleeps ; 

But  scent  of  lilac  and  carnation  creeps 

From    Grantchester    to    bless    the    wave-washed 

strand. 

Home  in  our  hearts  he  comes  from  that  far  land, 
And  as  we  bear  him  onward,  no  man  weeps; 
For  tears  speak  not  the  quickened  pulse  that  leaps 
That  hero-heart  to  meet  and  understand. 
How  buoyantly  he  sang  his  way  to  death ! 
My  country  and  my  home — his  latest  breath. 
And  how  triumphantly  that  song  he  wed 
In  measured  cadences  to  martial  tread. 
Oh,  royal  welcome  waited  when  he  came — 
Valhalla's  full-voiced  chorus  of  acclaim ! 
December,  1915 


[8] 


A  MEMORIAL  ORGAN* 

IN  quiet  shadow,  standing  just  apart, 
Yet  not  removed  from  busy  ways  of  men, 
Thou  waitest  for  a  master-hand  again 
To  summon  music  from  thy  silent  heart. 
A  fitting  shrine,  devised  of  memory's  art, 
For  loved  ones  who  beyond  their  widest  ken 
Enriched  life's  harmonies,  not  dreaming  then 
How  echoes,  to  this  far-off  day,  would  start. 

Hark,  tones  arise  like  softest  cradle  song 

In  tenderness;  then,  mounting  full  and  strong, 

The  music  voices  to  the  listening  ear 

Immortal  messages  of  noble  cheer. 

Through  every  strain  that  wings  its  way  above, 

Runs  the  sweet  melody  of  Mother-love. 

*Erected  in  memory  of  two  mothers. 

[9] 


n 

THE  VIOLET  OF  POESY 
And  Other  Poems 


THE  VIOLET  OF  POESY 

THE  violet  of  poesy 
Upon  a  slender  stem  of  thought, 
Methinks  the  triolet  must  be, 

The  violet  of  poesy ; 
With  petals  fine,  so  gracefully 
It  rises;  with  sweet  fragrance  fraught, 

The  violet  of  poesy 
Upon  a  slender  stem  of  thought. 

My  love  is  like  a  violet, 
The  flower  sweet  I  fain  would  wear; 
With  daintiness  and  grace  beset 

My  love  is  like  a  violet, 
And  so  I  sing  in  triolet — 
This  bloom  of  verse  so  slight  and  fair — 

My  love  is  like  a  violet, 
The  flower  sweet  I  fain  would  wear. 

[13] 


AT  NIGHT 

THE  dragging  fret  of  day 
Has  left  my  spirit,  with  its  impress  deep, 

A  many-furrowed  strand; 

But  Lethe's  waves  of  gray 
Are  washing  in ;  with  soft,  recurrent  sweep 

They  smooth  the  golden  sand, 
And  stealing  down  the  shining  path  comes  Sleep. 


[14] 


OUTLOOK 

"Poos  little  oak  leaf 
Clinging  to  the  tree. 
Blown  by  every  gust  of  wind, 
How  lonesome  you  must  be !" 

"Fie !"  said  the  oak  leaf, 
"You  needn't  pity  me ! 
It's  the  first  time  since  last  Spring 
That  I've  had  room  to  see!" 


[15] 


HOSES 

'Tis  morning  in  her  garden  fair, 
And  round  her  shining  red-gold  hair 

The  sun  a  halo  throws ; 
As  with  one  perfect  bloom  held  high, 
She  turns,  with  the  enraptured  cry, 

"Oh,  how  I  love  the  rose !" 

Love's  sunshine  courses  through  my  veins: 
No  chilling  doubt  nor  fear  restrains 

The  hope  that  in  me  glows. 
I  catch  the  lifted  hand  in  mine, 
And  cry,  in  ecstasy  divine, 

"Oh,  how  I  love  thee,  Rose !" 


[16] 


ON  THE  EIVER 

MY  love  is  like  a  river, 

Deep  it  flows; 
Come,  cast  yourself  upon  it 

Like  a  rose; 
And  let  it  gently  bear  you, 

Light  as  foam, 
Unto  that  blessed  haven 
— Home ! 


[17] 


THE  EYES  I  LOVE 

THEY  do  not  flash  and  sparkle, 
•     JsTor  melt  with  passion's  glow ; 
They  do  not  steal  quick  glances, 

Then  droop  white  eyelids  low ; 
Coquettish  arts  they  know  not, 

The  sunny  eyes  I  love, 
The  magic  power  that's  in  them 

They  brought  from  heaven  above. 
When  they  are  lifted  to  me, 

Those  clear,  dark,  steadfast  eyes, 
Alight  with  the  glad  radiance 

Of  love's  first  sweet  surprise, 
•Such  constancy  looks  from  them, 

Such  trust  and  hope  divine, 
I  cry,  "God  bless  my  darling ! 

Bless  God,  who  made  her  mine !" 

[18] 


A  VALENTINE 

A  VALENTINE  I  Send  to  JOU  ; 

?Tis  but  a  sign — 

A  valentine, 

Oh,  sweetheart  mine,  that  I  am  true, 
And  this  sweet  sign  belongs  to  you. 
One  loving  word  but  send  to  me ; 

For  hope  deferred 

One  loving  word; 

Light  as  a  bird  my  heart  would  be 
Could  you  but  send  that  word  to  me. 


[19] 


TO  PHILOMELA 

DEAR  little  Philomel, 
Songster  from  above, 
Welcome  to  a  country 
Brimful  of  love. 

Trailing  clouds  of  glory 
From  your  shining  wings; 
That's  the  good  old  story 
A  wise  poet  sings. 

But  they  needn't  tell  us 
Where  you  had  your  birth, — 
Haven't  you  brought  heaven 
Straight  down  to  earth? 

Eest,  little  Philomel, 
For  the  way  was  long; 
Nestle  close  to  mother's  heart 
And  learn  a  new  song. 

May  21,  1916 

[20] 


FKIEKDS 

A  WEARY  traveler,  at  close  of  day 

I  stop  for  rest  and  shelter  on  my  way, 

And,  lonely  stranger  in  a  stranger's  room, 

I  watch  the  shadow-heralds  of  the  gloom 

Steal  softly  in,  and,  gliding  through  the  place, 

Wrap  every  object  in  a  fast  embrace. 

Meanwhile,  my  wandering  gaze  moves  here  and 

there, 

A  rover,  idle  as  my  fancies  are, 
To  rest,  at  last,  with  half -unconscious  looks, 
Upon  a  little  shelf  of  well-worn  books 
Whose  outlined  forms  but  dimly  can  be  seen, 
So  close  the  veil  of  darkness  dropped  between. 
Lo!  through  the  slanted  shutter  swift  there  flies 
One  laggard  sunbeam  from  the  western  skies ; 
Straight  to  the  books  it  flits,  a  homing  dove, 
And,  in  its  light,  gleam  out  the  names  I  love ! 

[21] 


IN    FLIGHT 

'Twas  there,  'tis  gone !    But  not  the  grace  it  lends, 
The    room,    transformed,    is    full    of    well-loved 
friends. 


[22] 


BLOWS 

A  WHIPPING-POST  for  the  brute  who  will  maim 
With  his  bludgeon  blows  a  woman's  frame; 
And  shall  justice  demand  of  him  no  toll 
Who  lashes  with  words  her  quivering  soul  ? 


[23] 


SUNWAKD 

My  land  lies  sloping  toward  the  east, 

Blessed  by  the  sunshine's  earliest  ray; 
The  summer  rain,  with  light  caress, 

Glides  gently  down  its  emerald  way. 
The  downy  cover  Winter  weaves 

Rolls  swiftly  back  in  Spring's  warm  hand, 
And  sets  the  happy  hillside  free, 

For  sloping  eastward  lies  my  land. 


[24] 


SATISFIED 

F.   E.   D. 

THROUGH  all  the  lengthening  days  of 

weary  pain, 

At  restless  bidding  of  a  fevered  brain 
His  wandering  mind  had  sought, — and 

sought  in  vain — 
Some  errant  word; 
But  with  the  breaking  dawn  that  brought 

release, 

The  pitying  angel's  voice  bade  effort  cease, 
And  gently  whispered  it  to  him:  'twas 

"Peace." 
He,  smiling,  heard. 

1906 


[25] 


ON  DECOKATION  DAY 

E.    H.    G. 

WHERE  sunshine  soft  drifts  gently  down 

Through  Maytime's  tender  leaves, 
And  silence  lays  its  soothing  touch 

Upon  the  heart  that  grieves, 
A  mother  and  her  little  child 

In  hand-clasp  warm  and  sweet 
Walked  with  a  quiet  reverence 

Along  Death's  grassy  street. 

No  spoken  words  between  them  passed; 

Her  thoughts  were  of  the  dead, 
As  flowers  brought  by  loving  hands 

Bestrewed  each  mossy  bed ; 
And  his  dear  heart  was  saddened 

By  the  strangely  solemn  place, 
Till,  suddenly,  a  flitting  smile 

Lit  up  his  shadowed  face. 
[26] 


IN    FLIGHT 

It  trembled — then  shone  steadily, 

By  inner  radiance  fed, 
— 'Twas  like  the  sunlight  through  the  leaves 

That  flickered  overhead, — 
"Oh,  mother,  I'm  so  glad !"  he  cried, 

And  stopped  to  look  about, 
"Just  see !    On  every  soldier's  grave 

A  flag  has  blossomed  out !" 


[27 


IN  MEMOEY 

J.    B.    M. 

THE  Great  Physician,  standing  calm  and  strong, 
Received  with  gentleness  the  suffering  throng, 
And  touching  them  with  healing  hands,   He 

blessed  and  bade  them  go ; 
So  one  who  stood  in  these  our  later  days 
(With  voices  hushed  his  name  we  softly  praise) 
Awaited,  healed,  and  with  his  kindness  blessed 
the  child  of  woe. 

Swift  burned  the  fire  of  his  consuming  zeal 
To  lighten  weights  humanity  must  feel. 

Before  our  wondering  eyes  he  worked  his  mir- 
acles of  will ; 

He  freed  the  mind,  he  made  the  dumb  to  talk, 
And  to  the  maimed  he  said,  "Arise  and  walk;" 
Each  cry  for  help  he  answered  by  a  deed  of 
daring  skill. 

[28] 


IN    FLIGHT 

So  utterly  he  knew  the  human  frame 
That  when  for  him  the  ruthless  Hunter  came, 
Whose  quarry  he  had  often  wrested  in  the  open 

field, 

He  watched  each  stealthy  step  as  it  drew  near, 
But  faced  his  foe  as  one  who  knew  no  fear, 
Till  in  a  last,  great  victory,  he  fell  upon  his 
shield. 

His  life  to  save  the  lives  of  men  he  gave ; 
Our  benedictions  blossom  on  his  grave. 


[29] 


BOND  OR  FREE 

WHO  fears  the  worst,  dwells  in  a  darkened  place 
Alive  with  noisome,  formless,  fluttering  things. 

And  shrinking  backward,  shields  his  covered  facr 
From  contact  with  their  black  and  hateful 
wings. 

Who  hopes  the  best,  goes  forth  with  forehead  bare, 
And  to  the  open  blue  he  lifts  his  face 

And  cries,  "All  good  of  earth,  of  sea,  of  air, 
Is  mine,  by  boundless  largess  of  God's  grace." 


[30] 


THE  BEST  GIFTS 

GIVE  love ! 

So  lavish  in  its  overflow 

That  freely  bathed  within  its  golden  flood 

Each  seeming  ill,  transmuted,  turns  to  good. 

Give  hope ! 

So  subtle  in  its  interchange — 

Like  life's  red  current  from  a  generous  vein 

It  feeds  the  flagging  heart  made  weak  by  pain. 

Give  joy! 

So  vibrant  in  its  steady  thrill 

That  each  shall  know  the  Christ-child  born  again, 

And  lift  the  song  of  glad  good  will  to  men. 


[31] 


Ill 

FROLIC 


HER  SUMMER  VACATION 

First  Day.  THE  house  is  still, 

But  I  can  feel 
Your  presence  fill 
Each  quiet  room 
And  round  me  steal 
Like  rich  perfume. 

P.  S.  To  know  you're  resting  gives  me  joy, 

Don't  worry,  now,  about  your  lonely  boy. 

Second  Day.       I  heard  to-night 
The  latest  play; 
They  call  it  bright — 
I  do  not  know, 
For  far  away 
My  thoughts  would  go. 

P.  S.  They  flew,  my  dear,  direct  to  you; 
I  only  needed  wings  to  fly  there,  too! 

[35] 


IN    FLIGHT 

Third  Day.         How  dull  and  drear 
Each  passing  day ! 
When  you  are  here 
So  fast  they  go, 
Time  disappears 

Like  melting  snow. 
P.  S.  I  feel  so  deucedly  depressed! 

Much  longer,  dearest,  do  you  need  to  rest? 

Fourth  Day.       The  house  is  still ; 
I  seem  to  feel 
Gray  specters  fill 
Each  quiet  room 
And  round  me  steal 

In  ghostly  gloom. 
P.  S.  What  madness  made  me  let  you  roam? 

For  heaven's  sake,  my  precious  wife,  come  home! 


[36] 


THE  SOLEMN  TKUTH 

His  father's  very  counterpart, 

The  man  that  is  to  be, 
He  came,  our  sturdy  little  son, 

And  leaned  upon  my  .knee. 

With  overflow  of  tenderness 

I  gazed  into  his  eyes, 
And  longed  to  cast  my  horoscope 

In  those  unclouded  skies. 

"Why  do  you  love  your  mother  so? 

Now,  tell  me  truly,  sweet !" 
"Why,  muwer  dear,"  he  said,  "it's  'cause 

You  make  good  sings  to  eat !" 


[37] 


THE  NEW  MAID 

HER  blue  eyes  mind  me  of  a  doll ; 

Her  flaxen  braids  are  fair  to  see ; 
'Tis  truth  to  say  that,  all  in  all, 

She's  just  as  Swede  as  she  can  be. 


138] 


A  SYMPATHETIC  TEAK 

A  SAD  and  solemn  thing  it  is 
To  see  a  strong  man  cry. 

I  gazed  in  dumb  bewilderment 
And  mutely  questioned  why. 

My  author-friend  but  waved  his  hand 

To  slips  of  varied  hue; 
"The  Judge  regrets,  and  Life  regrets, 

Atlantic  Monthly,  too ; 

"The  Century  and  Harper's  both, — 
They  all  regret — oh,  dear! 

The  world's  so  full  of  sorry  men 
It  makes  me  drop  a  tear." 


[39] 


THEIK  BEASTLY  GOSSIP 

SAID  the  ant's  little  niece  to  the  bee,  " Yes,  it's  out ! 
Why  shouldn't  it  be  with  you  buzzing  about, 
And  others  by  no  means  too  small  to  refuse 
To  go  mousing  around  for  a  choice  bit  of  news  ? 
The  bear  facts  are  these :  It  has  long  been  a-bruin ; 
That  tail-bearing  squirrel  suspected  their  wooing 
And  whispered  the  parrot,  who  talks  without 

reason, 
That   even  the  bat  would   see  things   in   due 

season. 

The  owl  shut  her  eyes,  and  with  face  sanctimoni- 
ous, 
At   first  just   asked,    'Whoo?'   then   hoped   'twas 

erroneous, 

And  said,  if  'twere  not,  she  was  morally  certain 
That  Mr.  Cock  Sparrow,  as  usual,  was  flirtin'. 

Then  the  crow  boldly  claimed  he  could  offer  good 
caws 

[40] 


IN    FLIGHT 

Why  they  should  not  be  joined,  if  they  cared  for 

the  laws. 

The  hyena  laughed,  and  the  catamount  grinned, 
And,    all   things    together,    past   bearing   they 

sinned. 

It  really  was  lion  of  unusual  scope, 
And  I  say  it's  no  wonder  it  made  antelope !" 

Said  the  bee  to  the  ant,  as  he  poised  to  take  wing, 
"Do  me  justice !    I  never  intended  to  sting ! 
We  esteem  your  dear  ant,  and  will  prove  our 

good  will 
By  a  great  welcome  home  that  shall  quite  fill 

the  bill. 

We'll  have  it  at  night,  in  the  gnu  city  park, 
And  you  just  mark  my  words,  there  will  be  a  big 

lark. 

We'll  say  to  them  all,  'If  a  jaguar  after 
Don't  take  it  in  gossip,  but  have  one  of  laugh- 
ter!' 


IN    FLIGHT 

Just  write  your  new  uncle  to  chirrup  at  once, 

And  your  ant  to  forget  all  these  beastly  affronts. 
For  we  know  what  is  due  to  our  friends  newly 

wed, 

And  the  peacocks  are  planning  a  post-nuptial 
spread. 

From  hillside  and  valley  their  deer  friends  are 
coming — 

Three  cheers  and  a  tiger !     Now  I  must  be  hum- 
ming !" 


[42] 


A  WARM  FIGHT 

"You  sing  too  loud !"   The  fire  roared 

At  the  kettle,  with  much  heat. 
Said  she,  "Your  way  of  blazing  out 

At  me  is  far  from  sweet; 
You  quite  deserve  to  be  put  out ! 

To  see  it  I'd  be  glad ! 
Your  conduct  fairly  makes  me  boil, 

And  my  cover's  hopping  mad!" 


[43] 


MAKING  THINGS  DO 

WHEN  Mother  gets  my  last  year's  coat 

And  scans  it  carefully, 
I'm  hoping  every  minute 

Till  she  sighs,  and  says  to  me, 
"Re-lined,  'twill  seem  almost  like  new — 
I  think,  dear,  we  can  make  it  do." 

When  Papa  takes  my  half-worn  shoes 

And  turns  them  every  way, 
I  know  beforehand  just  the  words 

That  he  is  sure  to  say : 

It's  "Well,  my  child,  they're  not  worn  through, 
Re-soled,  you'll  have  to  make  them  do." 

And  when,  next  day,  that  Sylvia  Brown 

Puts  out,  with  saucy  flirt, 
Her  shiny,  patent  leather  shoe, 

I  lengthen  down  my  skirt 
[44] 


IN    FLIGHT 

And  think,  "I  s'pose  she  never  knew 
What  'tis  to  have  to  make  things  do." 

But  worst  was  when  my  sister  Jane 

Tried  on  her  half-worn  dress 
And  said  what  made  me  furious, 

I  may  as  well  confess ; 
"It's  out  of  style ;  but  sister  Sue, 
Just  as  it  is,  can  make  it  do." 

That  time  I  cried — well,  yes,  I  did, 

But  when  my  Papa  came, 
And  whispered  something  low  to  me, 

My  face  just  burned  for  shame : 
He  said,  "With  such  a  girl  as  you, 
Your  daddy's  proud  to  make  things  do !" 


[45] 


A  BOKN  DIPLOMAT 

WITH  longing  admiration 
Wee  Nora,  three  years  old, 

Gazed  on  her  playmate's  locket, 
A  gem  of  shining  gold. 

At  last,  by  dint  of  coaxing 
From  her  persuasive  tongue, 

For  just  "one  little  minute" 
Upon  her  neck  it  hung. 

Then  pausing  not  an  instant 

Her  image  to  admire, 
This  wily  little  schemer, 

With  plans  for  conquest  higher, 

Looked  up  with  artful  sweetness : 

"Oh,  Arabella  Vaughn, 
You  do  look  so  much  nicer 

Wivout  a  locket  on!" 
[46] 


NED'S  BIETHDAY  WISH 

THE  birthday  cake  was  beautiful, 

A  mountain  high  and  white, 
All  trimmed  with  name  and  age  in  red 

And  candles  burning  bright. 

"Now,  children,  wish!"  said  mamma  dear, 

"And  blow  the  candles  out ! 
I  see  that  Ned  is  thinking  hard, 

What  can  it  be  about  ?" 

"I  wish — I  wish "  said  Ned,  and  paused, 

Another  look  to  take, 
"I  wish,"  he  finished  solemnly, 

"It  was  a  bigger  cake !" 


[47] 


SANTA'S  SUBSTITUTE 

LITTLE  baby  daughter, 

Pretty  lips  a-pout, 
In  a  fit  of  temper 

Tossed  her  things  about; 
Till  I  drew  her  to  me 

Saying,  "I've  been  told 
Santa  only  visits 

Children  good  as  gold." 
Downcast  little  figure 

Sudden  sat  erect; 
"Good  each  minute,  Mama  ? 

That's  too  much  to  'spect ! 
S'pose  he  shouldn't  come  here 

With  the  toys  he  brings, 
Couldn't  you  just  get  me 

Some  little  bits  of  things  ?" 

[48] 


MEEEY  CHEISTMAS 

WITHIN  a  shaded  upper  room 

A  gentle  lady  lies, 
The  glow  of  fever  on  her  cheek 

And  blazing  in  her  eyes. 

Beside  her,  nurse  and  doctor  seek 

To  quiet  her  in  vain; 
With  restless,  eager  hand  she  writes 

Upon  the  counterpane 

Imaginary  labels  to 

Imaginary  gifts, 
Which  loud  she  reads,  as  on  her  arm 

Her  weary  frame  she  lifts. 

"From  baby-girl  to  father  dear ;" 
"To  mother,  from  Helene;" 

"The  season's  greetings  to  my  friend," 
"With  love  from  brother  Gene." 
[49] 


IN    FLIGHT 

"Now  bring  the  baby  ribbon  here, 
And  hand  the  parcels — so. 

The  red  goes  with  the  holly, 
The  white  with  mistletoe." 

Then  endless,  unseen  packages, 
With  trembling  hand  she  ties, 

Stopping,  at  last,  but  not  to  rest, 
"The  telephone!"  she  cries. 

"Call  the  expressman  instantly ! 

I  feel  a — little — tired — 
There!    Merry,  merry  Christmas!" 

She  sank  back  and  expired. 


[50] 


IV 
THROUGH  THE  YEAR 


JANUAKY  BELLS 

An   old-fashioned   sleighing  idyl 

THE  air  is  clear  and  crisp  and  bright, 
The  snow  is  sparkling,  smooth  and  white, 
And  tempted  by  their  magic  might 
The  bells  and  I  are  out. 

Now  gliding  swiftly  down  the  street 
My  happy  eyes  with  rapture  greet 
Two  dainty  forms  with  faces  sweet. 
Ah,  ha !  The  belles  are  out. 

I  quickly  stop,  and,  not  denied 
The  boon  I  asked,  soon  side  by  side, 
With  laugh  and  jest  away  we  glide, 
The  belles  and  I  are  out! 

Swift  as  the  wind,  with  hearts  so  gay, 
We  dash  along  a  crowded  way, 
When — cruel  fate  upsets  my  sleigh ! 
The  belles  and  I  are  out! 
[53] 


IN    FLIGHT 

Excuses  uttered  o'er  and  o'er 
Avail  me  naught;  we  reach  the  door 
And  coldly  part.     Forevermore 
The  belles  and  I  are  out ! 


[54] 


FEBRUARY  SECOND 

S.  H.  S. 

BROTHER  GROUNDHOG,  our  Te  Salutamus 

We  offer  again,  as  of  yore, 
But  your  prophecies  kind,  the  most  of  us  find 

We  simply  don't  need  any  more. 

We  are  voicing  the  voice  of  the  people, 
There's  hardly  a  shadow  of  doubt, 

To  the  average  brain  it's  a  terrible  strain 
To  follow  your  ain"  and  your  "out." 

And  the  man  is  a  real  rara  avis 

Who,  suddenly  asked  to  explain, 
Whether  seeing  your  shade  means  spring  soor 
or  delayed, 

Doesn't  stammer  and  struggle  in  vain. 

So,  a  fig  for  your  prognostications ! 
We're  tired  of  this  annual  fuss ! 
[55] 


IN    FLIGHT 

And  if  sunshine  you  see — or  whatever  it  be — 
You  can't  cast  a  shadow  on  us. 

For  we  know  that  the  winter  is  going, 
We  know  that  the  springtime  is  near, 

With  its  birds  and  its  flowers  and  its  sunshiny 

hours, 
To  whisper  of  hope  and  good  cheer. 

For   a  birthday   celebration. 


[56] 


FORERUNNERS 

MARCH 

SPKING  is  coining — coming  fast ! 
Whispering  breezes  hurry  past ; 

Something  brewing! 
Listen !   They  are  telling  how 
There  are  pussy-willows  now 

Almost  mewing. 

Through  the  ice  the  little  brook, 
Laughing,  runs  to  take  a  look, 

Brightly  blinking; 
While  the  leaves,  in  peaked  hoods, 
Nod  and  beckon  in  the  woods, 

>7O    Oil  A.   , 

Slyly  winking. 

-y-'O'lIsi  ll 

Secrets!    Secrets  in  the  air! 
Round  about  the  barnyard  bare 

Speeds  Old  Dobbin; 
And  before  him — see,  there  goes 
On  his  blue  and  yellow  toes 

The  first  robin! 
[57] 


APRIL    RAIN 

It  isn't  raining  rain  to  me,  It  isn't  raining:  rain  to  me. 

It's  raining-  daffodils ;  But  fields  of  clover  bloom, 

In  every  dimpled  drop  I  see  Where  any  buccaneering'  bee 

Wild  flowers  on  the  hills.  May  find  a  bed  and  room. 
The  clouds  of  gray  ensrulf  the  day         A  health  unto  the  happy, 

And  overwhelm  the  town—  A  fig-  for  him  who  frets- 
It  isn't  raining:  rain  to  me,  It  isn't  raining-  rain  to  me, 

It's  raining-  roses  down.  It's  raining-  violets. 

ROBERT   LOVEMAN 


APRIL  SNOW 

To  the  author  of  "  April  Rain/1 

IT  isn't  snowing  snow  to  me, 

It's  snowing  aches  and  ills ; 
In  every  tiny  flake  I  see 

A  dozen  doctor's  bills. 
The  clouds  of  gray  engulf  the  day 

And  overwhelm  the  town; 
It  isn't  snowing  snow  to  me, 

It's  snowing  trouble  down. 

It  isn't  snowing  snow  to  me, 
It's  snowing  noses  blue ; 

Goose-pimples,  shivers,  rheumatiz, 
And  influenza,  too. 
[58] 


IN    FLIGHT 

A  health  unto  the  summer ! 

But  you  can  make  your  bets, 
It  isn't  snowing  snow  to  me, 

It's  snowing  vile  regrets. 


[59] 


MAT 

WANT  to  banish  April's  tears, 

You,  May? 
Laugh  away  our  doubts  and  fears, 

You,  May? 

Flood  the  earth  with  sunshine  gay, 
And  through  every  livelong  day 
Scatter  blossoms  on  our  way  ? 
You  may. 

Want  to  promise  then  still  more, 

You,  May? 
Tell  us  all  June  holds  in  store, 

You,  May? 

She'll  be  welcome — never  fear! 
But  we  know  who  is  the  dear 
Dainty  lady  of  the  year — 
You,  May! 

[60] 


JUNE 

JUNE!    June!    June!    June! 
Rollicking,  frolicking,  merry-mad  tune ! 
Now  the  poet  must  sing 
Like  a  bird  on  the  wing, 

With  a  lilt  and  a  tilt  and  a  lift  in  the  measure, 
For   the   sober   old   world   has   gone   tipsy   with 

pleasure, 

And  his  heart  beats  in  time  with  the  magical  tune : 
Rollicking,  frolicking,  merry-mad  June ! 


[61] 


JULY 

MIDSUMMER  ;  and  the  fervent  heat 

Has  swept  the  lovely  garden  bare  of  flowers, 

Save  for  a  few  intrepid  blooms  which  fling 
A  gay  defiance  to  the  sultry  hours. 

The  scorching  heat  of  circumstance 

With  blighting  power  bends  many  natures  low ; 
But  men  of  mettle,  like  the  tempered  steel, 

Gain  strength  and  beauty  in  its  fiery  glow. 


[62] 


MY  HAY-FEVER  SWEETHEART 

AUGUST 

I  LOVE  her,  and  I  told  her  so, 

And  for  an  answer  teased. 
She  gave  me  just  a  hasty  glance, 

Then  sneezed  and  sneezed  and  sneezed. 

"Oh,  cruel,  heartless  maid !"  I  cried ; 

"My  wooing  you  despise !" 
And  then  I  stopped,  encouraged,  as 

I  saw  her  streaming  eyes. 

But,  as  I  tried  to  coax  her,  then, 

To  listen  to  my  woes, 
She  took  her  little  handkerchief 

And  blew  her  little  nose. 

I  turned,  impatiently,  to  go, 

But  heard  a  gentle  call; 
"Oh,  please,  please,  cub  agaid,"  it  said, 

"Cub  later  id  the  fall!" 
[63] 


GOLDEJST-KOD 

IN  the  days  I  dreamed, 

Time  was  that  you  seemed 
With  your  slender  torches  lightly  springing, 

Youth's  exultant  fire, 

Buoyant  brave  desire, 
Golden  flame  from  earth  to  heaven  upwinging. 

Memory-month  you  are; 

Down  the  years  from  far 
Come  the  visions  bright  of  past  Septembers ; 

Golden-rod,  to  me 

Now  you  seem  to  be 
Of  those  joyous  fires  the  glowing  embers. 

September  twenty-second 


[64] 


OCTOBEE 

SWEET  Summer  turns  with  parting  smile, 
And,  last  of  many  a  dainty  wile, 
Her  silvery  veil  she  sets  adrift, 

A  gossamer  maze. 
Down,  down  it  floats,  a  fairy  mist, 
Above  the  land  by  sunshine  kissed, 
And  lo! — as  wondering  eyes  we  lift — 

October  haze! 


[65] 


THANKSGIVING 

FOE  grief  unsuffered,  tears  unshed, 
For  clouds  that  scattered  overhead; 
For  pestilence  that  came  not  nigh, 
For  dangers  great  that  passed  us  by ; 
For  blood  unspilled  in  wars  unfought, 
For  deeds  of  wrong  and  shame  unwrought ; 
For  sharp  suspicion,  soothed,  allayed, 
For  doubt  dispelled  that  made  afraid; 
For  fierce  temptation  well  withstood, 
For  evil  plot  which  brought  forth  good; 
For  weakened  links  in  friendship's  chain 
That,  sorely  tested,  stood  the  strain; 
For  harmless  blows  with  malice  dealt, 
For  base  ingratitude  unf elt ; 
For  hatred's  keen,  unuttered  word, 
For  bitter  jest,  unknown,  unheard; 
For  every  evil  turned  away, 
Unmeasured  thanks  we  give  to-day. 

November,  1907 

[66] 


CHRISTMAS-WKEATH 

FIRELIGHT   and  candlelight 
Illumine  all  the  place; 

Best  of  all  the  lovelight 

That  shines  upon  her  face. 

Holly-wreaths  bedeck  the  wall 
And  snow-wreaths  the  ground ; 

Best  of  all  the  little  ring 

That  wreathes  her  finger  round. 


[67] 


V 

SHADOWS 


MY  WALL  OF  COMFORTS 

ACROSS  a  still,  unshadowed  day 
A  sudden  frenzy  burned  its  way. 
Fair  violets  of  blue  and  gold 
Were  crushed  within  my  frightened  hold, 
While  meadows  I  had  hoped  to  tread 
Lay  seared  and  desolate  and  dead; 
And  all  the  future,  wrapped  in  cloud, 
Swept  from  my  sight,  a  flaming  shroud. 

How  could  I  hide  that  blackened  waste ! 
I  turned  me  in  a  fevered  haste, 
With  hands  that  trembled,  eyes  that  filled, 
And  set  me  straight  a  wall  to  build. 
Out  from  the  comforts  of  the  past 
I  brought  my  treasures — drew  them  fast. 
The  loving  smiles,  the  tender  care, 
The  hope,  the  courage,  strength  to  bear, 
[71] 


IN    FLIGHT 

The  understanding  sympathy, 

Of  all  life's  gifts  the  best  to  me. 

Lo !  as  I  placed  them,  one  by  one, 

All  clear  and  glistening  they  shone ; 

Each  joy  remembered  grew  a  block 

Of  immemorial  granite  rock. 

Until  before  me,  firm  and  true, 

My  wall  towered  high  against  the  blue. 

"Oh,  live  not  in.  the  past !"  you  say, 
Who  know  not  of  that  darkened  day : 
My  Wall  of  Comforts  builded  high 
Shall  be  my  shelter  till  I  die. 


[W] 


WHITHEK? 

BUT  yesterday  and  thou  wert  here — where  hast 
thou  gone  to-day  ? 

I  need  the  hand  that  held  my  own  so  closely  all 
the  way ! 

With  yearning  eyes  I  lift  my  face  unto  the  bend- 
ing sky, 

Like  phantom  armies,  steadily  the  snowy  clouds 
sweep  by: 

In  sobbing  call  my  voice  goes  out  across  the  rest- 
less wave, 

No  sound  returns — no  echo  from  that  deep  and 
soulless  grave. 

I  turn  with  pleading,  hopeless,  and  seek  the  forest 
lone, 

Mysteriously    whispering,    the    mighty    tree-tops 
moan. 

In  frenzy  of  despair  I  beat  upon  the  bars  of 
Death; 

[73] 


IN    FLIGHT 

"Where  went  my  love  who  left  me  in  the  passing  of 

a  breath?" 
For  answer  only  silence,  and  my  heart-beats  fall 

like  lead, 
As  I  listen,  listen,  listen,  at  the  doorway  of  the 

dead. 

1907 


[74] 


BUT  ONCE 

Oh,  loved  one,  somewhere  out  of  reach 

Of  clinging  hands  and  calling,  calling  voice, 
Part  thou  the  vail  let  fall  between,  and  say  to  me 

"Grieve  not,  but  know  that  I  rejoice." 
Or  send  the  sunshine  warm  of  thy  dear  smile 

To  flood  my  empty  heart  once  more, 
And  lonely  years  were  days,  while  severed  ties 

Were  cable-bands  made  fast  to  yonder  shore. 


[75] 


HEAKTS  WINTER 

EARTH  holds  no  colder  thing  than  this, 
The  grudging,  hasty-given  kiss 

To  lips  that  wait ; 

Save  one  alone — the  death-stilled  heart, 
Past  craving  love,  past  suffering  smart, 

Avenged  by  fate. 


[76 


BELGIUM 
August,  1914 

THE  bells  are  tolling,  tolling, 

Their  echoes  fill  the  air; 
But  from  their  tongues  is  rolling 

No  message  of  despair. 

"Come!  Come !"  they  call, 

"To  stand  or  fall 
For  Belgium !" 

Wild  voices  swelling,  swelling 

Tumultuous  to  the  sky; 
A  nation's  chorus,  telling 

One  heart-beat  in  reply. 

"Joy!  Joy!"  they  cry, 

"To  win  or  die 
For  Belgium !" 

[77] 


IN    FLIGHT 
November,  1914 

An   army   vast,    of   broken    ranks,    drags    slowly 

through  a  blighted  land 
Like  some  great  wave  which,  rolling  back,  leaves 

ghastly  wreckage  on  the  strand. 
No  tolling  bells  call  loud  to  arms  while  answering 

voices  thrill  the  air, 
But  heart-beats  stop,  to  flutter  on,  half-paralyzed 

with  slow  despair ; 
For  haggard  women,  footsore,  cold,  with  starving 

babes  and  children  wan, 

No  homes  to  leave  and  none  to  seek — go,  hopeless, 
blindly  journeying  on. 

"Woe!    Woe!"  they  cry, 
"To  us  who  live, 
While  men  must  die 
For  Belgium !" 

[78] 


THE  AMEKICAN  MOTHEE 

WITH  sorrow-softened  face  she  stands 
And  folds  the  heap  of  snowy  gauze 

With  gentle  hands : 
For  crowding  visions  fill  the  air 

And  make  of  every  thought  a  prayer : 

This  piteous  work  must  needs  be  done 
To  staunch  the  blood  of  someone's  son; 
That  'tis  not  mine,  my  only  one, 
(Oh,  is  it  sin — this  joy  within?) 
I  thank  Thee,  God! 

Could  labor  hope  of  rescue  bring 

The  saddened  hours  would  not  creep  by 

On  weary  wing ; 
But  crowding  visions  fill  the  air 

And  still  her  thoughts  go  up  in  prayer : 

For  each  brave  lad  whose  blood  must  flow 
A  mother's  heart  is  bleeding  slow; 
That  mine  such  anguish  does  not  know 
(Oh,  dare  I  say — this  shadowed  day?) 
I  bless  Thee,  God! 

[79] 


IN    FLIGHT 

Those  mother-hearts !   In  utter  shame 
Of  ruthless  waste,  her  spirit  springs 

To  burning  flame; 
And  visions  crowding  all  the  air 
She  pours  her  very  soul  in  prayer: 

Thou   Son   of   God,   from  whose  thorn-crown 
For  son  of  man  red  drops  ran  down, 
As  in  that  hour  Thy  tender  thought 
Compassion  for  Thy  mother  sought, 
Oh,  look  on  motherhood  to-day 
And  take  this  cup  of  grief  away: 
In  mercy  heed  our  bitter  need. 
God,  give  us  peace! 

December,  1914 


[80] 


VI 
A  LOVELY  DAY 


A  LOVELY  DAY 

As  friendly  voices  say,  in  parting  chime, 
"Good-bye,  dear  ones,  we've  had  a  lovely  time !" 
So  when  I  know  that  I  must  go  away, 
I'll  say,  "Good-bye,  we've  had  a  lovely  day !" 
The  clouded  skies  we've  known,  the  rain,  the  sleet, 
But   made   the   sunshine   brighter,   flowers   more 

sweet. 

Each  hour  within  my  heart  is  treasured  fast, 
And  each  is  loveliest  because  the  last. 
Their  joy  is  mine  forever,  come  what  may; 
"Good-bye,  good-bye,  we've  had  a  lovely  day!" 


[83] 


Cody.R.M. 
In  fligh 

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